PR 4989 i ^ ; 
i-«4 L32 -^.^— -5 

Copy 1 




YniGHT.l689. BY HAROLD ROORBACHl 



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1. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. A comic drama in two acts. Six 

mile, three female characters. Time, two hours. 

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LADY AUDLEY'S 
SECRET 



A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS 



FROM MISS BRADDON'S POPULAR NOVEL 



BY 



C. H. HAZLEWOOD 



New American Edition, Correctly Reprinted from the Ori- 
ginal Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original 
Cast of the Characters, Synopsis of Incidents, 
Time of Representation, Description of the 
Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- 
grams OF the Stage Settings, Sides of 
Entrance and Exit, Relative Posi- 
tions OF the Performers, Expla- 
nation of the Stage Direc- 
tions, ETC., AND ALL OF 

the Stage Business. 



^ 



Copyright, 



by Harold Roorbach. 




OEC 141889;. 



NEW YORK 

HAROLD ROORBACH 
PUBLISHER 



^ ""'^-y/n^^' 




LADY AUDLErS SECRET, 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



As first performed at the Victoria Theatre, Monday, May 23, 1863. 

Sir Michael Audley {of Aiuiley Court) Mr. R. H. Lingham. 

Robert Audley [Jiis Nephew) Mr. Gustavus W. Blake. 

George Talboys {the Husband of — ) Mr. Walter Roberts. 

Luke JMAiUiS {A Drunken Gamekeeper) Mr. George Yarnold. 

Countrymen, Morris Dancers. 

Lady Audley { Wife of Sir Michael) Miss Maria Daly. 

Alicia Audley {his Daughter) .Miss Violet Campbell. 

Phcebe Marks {Lady Aud/ey's Maid) Miss Lydia Foote. 

Villagers. 

time of representation — one hour and a quarter. 

Six Months are Supposed to Elapse between the First and 
Second Acts. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Lady Audley, a young woman of 24, is the second wife of Sir 
Michael Audley who is celebrating his seventieth birthday with 
merrymaking and good cheer. His nephew Robert, a lover of Alicia, 
-Sm^ Michael's daughter by his first wife, arrives late at the festivities, 
jVDmpanied by his friend George Talboys. While laying plans to 
pv-/.her her ambition and interest. Lady Audley is confronted by Tal- 
♦:^:, who recognizes in her the wife whom he had mourned as dead. It 
/fears that during Talboys' absence abroad, his wife,. impatient of her 
' ^. inds, had caused intelligence of her death to be sent to him, changed 
,.er name, entered the family of a gentleman as governess, devoted all 
her energies to winning the affections of old Sir Michael, and had 
finally gained the summit of her ambition. Talboys, maddened at his 
wife's treachery, determines at once to bring her to justice. She alter- 
nately implores his silence and threatens to crush him with the power of 



4 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 

gold, but finally agrees to follow him. A cunning device for relief sug- 
gesting itself, Lady Audley pretends sudden faintness and calls for 
water ; and while Talboys draws it for her she strikes him down and 
pushes' him into the well. Exulting in her escape from justice, she 
retires in triumph without observing Luke Marks who has been a silent 
witness of her crime. 

Six months elapse without any clue to the strange disappearance from 
Audley Court. Robert, plunged in melancholy, spares no eftbrt to 
learn the fate of his friend. Lady Audley, meanwhile, has kept her 
secret with calm demeanor, though she cannot banish the fatal meeting 
from her thoughts. In the interim Luke has married Lady Audley's 
maid and opened a public house. He now confronts her with his know- 
ledge other secret and demands a large price for his silence, which Lady 
Audley promises to take to his inn that night. No sooner has she re- 
sumed her mask of composure than Robert, now feeling sure that his 
friend has perished treacherously, openly charges Lady Audley with 
being concerned in Talboys' death, and war is declared between the 
two. Lady Audley now arouses Sir Michael's jealousy against 
Robert, with the result that the latter is dismissed from the house ; but 
recotrnizing his enemy's hand in the matter, he resolves to remain in the 
neighborhood, and finds shelter in Luke's inn where his suspicions are 
conlirmed by his host's strange conduct and incautious talk. Lady 
Audley, on going to the inn with the promised price of Luke's silence, is 
deeply disturbed at finding the two men in secret conversation. Realiz- 
ing that her exposure is imminent, she sets fire to the house after Robert 
has retired and Luke is in a drunken stupor, with the intent of destroying 
both of her persecutors at once, and returns home to find SiR Michael 
dying. But both victims escape from the burning building, though LuKE 
dies without wholly betraying Lady Audley, Robert then denounces 
her just as Talboys enters, to the consternation of all, after an illness 
and silence of months. The guilty woman, now exposed and scorned, 
goes mad and dies, imploring pity for herself and oblivion for her secret. 

COSTUMES. 

Sir Michael. Act L— Light summer suit; low shoes; fancy socks; 
gray hair and beard. Act II. — Black frock coat and trousers; white 
waistcoat and white cravat. 

Robert, Act I.— Rough sack suit; derby hat, Act II.— Black suit; 
cutaway coat; silk hat with mourning band; black gloves and neck- 
scarf. -«, 

Talboys. Ordinary dark business suit; derby hat. ^ 

Luke. Act I,— Velveteen coat; fancy waistcoat, cord breeches; 
gings; soft felt hat. Act II. — Rough business suit. 

Lady Audley. Act I, — I-ight summer costume. Act II. — x 
morning dress; cloak and hood. 

Alicia. Act \.~ist dress, riding habit; 2d dress, bright mornir 
costume. Act II. — Dark colored morning dress. ^ 

Phcebe. Act I, — Fancy calico dress; linen collar and cuff's; white 
cap and apron. Act II. — Plain dark attire; white Hnen collar and cuff's; 
hat and shawl. 



LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 







STAGE SETTINGS. 








Act I. 










LandscapeB&eking 










X *^ X 










. X |. X 

X 1 X 

^ X ^ X 


o 

Well 








Act U.—Sa-ne L 








[ 


Garden Backing 
I, ^ 


— 1 s' I- 


i 

Door 

t 




1 


^^ mChah- Chair % ^. \ 
^^Flotver- Stand flowerStand^W \ 




Door 
-J 






\_ 






Act IL^Scene m. 






'<Xi^ 


[ 


Landscape Backing 






ml 


lllllll II 




\ 


el: 


Steps) 




1 


1 
Doer 

J 


Dc 
TabklChairs ^| 


or 


Table ic Chair \ 



6 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 

SCENE PLOT. 

Act I. — Landscape in 5 g. All entrances open. An avenue of trees 
leading up c. Garden seat R. Set well L. 

Act IL Scene I. — Conservatory set in 3 G., backed with Garden drop 
in4G. Door C, and stained windows R, c. and L. c. in flat. Doors 
R. I E. and L. 3 E. Flower-stands R. and L., bearing flowers in pots. 
Chairs, R. c. and l. c. 

Scene II. — Exterior of Inn, in I G. Door in flat. 

Scene III. — Double scene of two plain chambers divided by partition 
running down from C. of flat. Flat in 3 G. Landscape backing in 
4 G. In the R. room, a table and two chairs c., and a smaller table 
down against the partition. Plight of steps at back, ascending into a loft 
above. Door R. 2 e. In the L. room, a table and chair c. Window in 
left flat. Door l. 2 e. Door in partition, opposite 2nd entrance. 

Scene IV. — A road in I G. C" }^ 

Scene V, — Same as Act I. . a^ i-*^ 

PROPERTIES. Z^*-^^ 

Act I. — Money for Phgebe. Miniature for Alicia. 

Act II. — Flowers in pots. Scissors and poignard for Lady Audley. 
Miniature and letters for Robert. Bank-note for Sir Michael. Bell off" 
stage. Door key. Two candles in candlesticks. Pipe (lighted) for 
Luke. Jug and two mugs. Cigars in case for Talboys. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

Observing, the player is supposed to face the audience. R. means 
right ; l., left ; c, centre ; r. C, right of centre ; L. c, left of centre ; 
I). F., door in the flat or scene running across the back of the stage ; 
R. P., right side of the flat ; L. F., left side of the flat ; R. D., right door ; 
L. D,, left door ; i E., first entrance ; 2 e., second entrance; u. E., upper 
entrance; i, 2 or 3 G., first, second or third grooves ; UP STAGE, toward 
the back ; DOWN stage, toward the foothghts. 
R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from the original 
authorized acting edition, without change. The introductory matter has 
been carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book 
protected by copyright. 




2 



I \ 




LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 



ACT I. 



Scene. — The Lhne Tree Walk ; an ancic7it Hall, R. ; the 
lime trees form an avenue up to the hall which is seen in the 
distance. 

Enter Phcebe Marks, followed by Luke her cousin, from r., 

he is dressed in velveteen coat, flowered waistcoat, atid cord 

breeches and gaiters, and has a rough dissipated appearance. 

PhcBbe. I tell you, Marks, you mustn't come here. 

Luke. And I tell'ee I will. You be my sweetheart, bound 
in promise to marry me these six years, and 'taint likely when I 
know you've a good place that I'm likely to cry off. You've 
been rising- in servitude o' late ; first you were housemaid, then 
parlor-maid, now you be lady's maid, at the top o' the servant's 
tree like ; so as that be the case, I, as your sweetheart, ought 
to reap some of the fruits. I wants some money, {holds out 
his hand) 

PhcBbe. [gives money) I wish you'd work, Luke, instead of 
skulking about from one public house to another all day long ; 
I am ashamed of you. 

Luke. I'll reform when I marry you, Phoebe. 

Phoebe. A poor prospect I shall have in marrying you, I'm 
—afraid. 

Luke. Well, I know I'm not over steady ; but it riles me, 
Phoebe, to see the luck o' some folks ; look at Lady Audley, for 
instance,— ^aJl^what was she a couple of years ago ? why only 
a governess, a teacher of French and the pian?iy, and now she 
be- mistress o' Audley Court. Ecod, she has played her cards 
well, to get the right side o' Sir Michael ; why he must be old 
nough to be her grandfather. 

■^hcebe. Quite old enough ; but he's very fond of her, and she's 
f fond of him. 



8 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 

Luke. Aye, it be to her interest to seem so. Now you appear 
to be very fond o' me, but I don't know whether you be or no. 
Bah ! women be strange cattle. 

Phoebe. You have no cause to say so as regards me, Luke. 
Any girl but me would have broken off with you long ago. 

Luke. Well, well, I know I have been goin' the racket ; but I'll 
reform, I'll leave this place and all my evil ways and companions. 
I should like to go to some o' those places abroad, Phoebe, where 
they say land can be got for the mere asking ; it be expensive to 
reach there, that's the worst on't. But I say, Phoebe, {going up 
to her) one o' them diamond earrings o' my lady's, or one of Sir 
Michael's rings as he wears would fetch a little fortune if turned 
into money. Couldn't you manage to lay hold o' one, give it to 
me, and 

Phoebe. For shame, Luke ! You are my cousin, 'tis true ; but 
if you dare to tempt me again with such wicked words, I'll treat 
you as the greatest stranger in the world. A fine prospect I 
have to look forward to, it seems ! This is my master, Sir 
Michael Audley's birthday, and all the folks are in their best but 
you. Go, Luke, go ; for if either my master or mistress see you 
— what will they think ? 

Luke. Let 'em think what they like. Who cares for they .? 

Phoebe. / do, \iyou don't. 

Luke. Well, I'll go down to the inn at Mount Stanning, and 
come up and see you again by-and-by. I hear, you're going to 
have fine merry-making up here, morris-dancing, fiddling, caper- 
ing, and what's better than all, good drinking, from the old ale 
in the baronet's cellars. I'll spruce myself up a bit, and make 
one of the party. All be welcome on a day like this, eh .? 

Phoebe. All who behave themselves. 

Luke. Oh ! I'll behave myself, [aside) While people's eyes be 
on me, and when they bean't, off I go into the woods to see how 
my snares be, as I set for the rabbits and hares, {aloud) Good- 
bye, my wench ; don't you fret about me. It's a long lane as has 
no turning, and I'll be another man afore long ; marry thee and 
drive thee to market in my shay cart, singing 

" Gee wo, Dobbin, gee wo, Dobbin, gee wo, Dcbbip., 

Gee up and gee wo." Exit, £. 

Phoebe. Poor Luke, I'm afraid you're almost too far gone to 
mend. I'd give him up altogether, if I were not afraid it would 
drive him to drink more than ever. I can't help-j^emembering 
he's my cousin, and that I'm bound to him by a promise to my 
poor dead mother. She always wished we should marry. So I 
must keep my word, and trust for the best, {music and distant 
shouts) Ah, here come my master and mistress ; how happy 
they seem, happier than I can ever be with Luke Marks, I'm 
afraid. 



LAD V A UDLE Y' S SECRET. 9 

Enter Sir Michael Audley, a gray-headed gentleman of 70, 
arm ift arm with Lady Audley, supposed to be about 24. 

Lady Audley. {to SiR Michael) Come along-, come along, 
my clear Sir Michael, you shall have no rest to day. I'll take you 
all over the park and grounds, to see all the festivities I've 
arranged in honor of my dear husband — my pet — my treasure — 
my only joy ! {pattitig his cheeks) 

Sir M. Bless you, my dear, bless you ! What a happy old 
man you make me ! The last two years of my life has been a 
new existence ; with you, my second wife, all is bliss, and do- 
mestic happiness — you make this earth heaven to me. The first 
Lady Audley made it the other place ! Ah ! I wish we had met 
thirty years ago. 

Lady A, Thirty years ago ? Why, my dear Sir Michael, I 
was not born then. 

Sir M. Then you ought to have been — on purpose to have 
saved me from making a fool of myself with a woman who only 
married me for my money and measured her love for me accord- 
ing to the measure of my acres. 

Lady A. Ah ! here is Phcebe ! Why, what's the matter, girl 
— you seem out of spirits ? 

Phoebe. I am, my lady — my cousin Luke has been here, and I 
was so afraid you would see him ; he's a deal of trouble to me, 
my lady — I wish he'd settle down to something. 

Sir M. Ah ! the fellow's a wild blade, and always was ; we'd 
better put the young people in some way of business, I think, 
my lady. 

Lady A. No, I can't spare Phoebe at present. I'll speak to 
Luke and he shall alter his ways — or he shall lose Phoebe. But 
this is -^ ^Hy of enjoyment ; away with business, and let the time 
be spei.. .Ji pleasure, {pipe atid tabor without) Ah ! here come 
thfe' Morris dancers ; you see I have not forgotten your taste for 
rural sports, my dear. 

Sir M. You forget nothing. Lady Audley, that can minister to 
my amusement, (he leads her to a garden seat, R.) 

Enter VILLAGERS, followed by MoRRis Dancers, c, who 
perform a dance and exeunt. 

SirM. {coming down with Lady A.) There, my lady; isn't 
that more inspiring than seeing a lot of dowdies walking through 
a quadrille, as though it were a toil to them, without either a 
smile in their faces or a bend in their bodies. Old English pas- 
times for ever ! Yes, yes, a country gentleman I was born, and 
a country gentleman I shall die. 

Lady A. Die ? Oh, my dear, dear Sir Michael ! pray don't talk 
of dying — whatever should I do without you ! 



lo LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 

Phcebe. {aside) Do ? why soon bid adieu to a country life, I 
warrant. 

Sir M. Punctuality is one of my jog-trot notions ; but it seems 
my nephew don't partake of that virtue, for he promised to be 
here first thing this morning, and he's not arrived yet. Ah ! 
here comes my daughter, I wonder if she has seen him. 

Enter Alicia, down avenue, C, dressed in a riding habit. 
Well, have you seen anything of him, my dear ? 

Alicia. No, pa', and it's shameful, that it is. I've been riding 
along the high road in the hope of meeting him, but no, not a 
sign of the fellow could I see. Oh ! I was so vexed that I had to 
whip my horse along like lightning, to get off my ill humor. 

Lady A. {crosses to her) Why my dear daughter-in-law, how 
cruel you are — why should your poor horse suffer for your truant 
lover ? Oh, fie ! fie ! I'm ashamed of you. 

Alicia. One can't always be smiles and honey as you are, my 
dear mother-in-law. It's better to let one's temper come out at 
once, than brood over unpleasant things in secret. 

Lady A. {aside) What does she mean by that ? {aloud) Oh ! 
my dear, you'll take these things in a calmer light by-and-bye — 
marriage is a wonderful cure for lovers' impatience. 

Sir M. Have_y(9Z/ found it so, my dear ? 

Lady A. {sniiling) Oh, no, my dear, there is no rule without 
an exception, 

Alicia, {aside) Leave her alone for finding an answer. • 

Sir M. {to Alicia) You'd better go and dress for dinner, my 
dear. We shall have Robert here before you are ready, if you 
are not speedy. 

Alicia. I don't care whether he comes or not, since he has 
stayed so long. '■ ' - 

Lady A. Oh yes, you do ! Come, come, don't be a (!^' JvJ^^^» 
there's a dear. (Jvif^lP* 

Alicia. Child indeed ! I'm as old as you are ! 

Lady A. Why, so you are ; but I forget that, when I am 
call'd your mother — there, there, now go and banish that frown 
from your brow, and meet the dear one of your heart, with one 
of those sunny smiles that so become your dear little face. Shall 
Phoebe go with you ? 

Alicia. No thank you, my dear mother-in-law ; keep to your 
servant, and I will keep to mine, {aside) I can't bear that Phoebe. 

Exit, L. u. E. 

Sir M. {callifig after her) Make a quick toilette, my dear, or 
you'll have him here before you. 

Lady A. What a spirit the dear child has. 

Sir M. Just like her mother, she was all spirit, {sighs) as I 
found to my sorrow. 

Lady A. Come, come — look not into the gloomy past while 



LAD Y A UD LEY'S SECRET, 1 1 

the bright future is before us. I've a hundred things to show 
you — the lake — the new summer-houses — the lawn, and I don't 
know what. 

Sir M. My dear light-hearted wife, I don't believe you ever 
knew a moment's sorrow in your life. 

Lady A. Ah, my dear, we may x^?i^ faces but not hearts. 

Sir M. And could I read yours I'm sure I should see 

Lady A. That which would change your opinion of me, 
perhaps. 

Sir M. Not it, I warrant, for if ever the face was an index of 
the mind, I believe yours to be that countenance. 

Lady A. {aside) We may have two faces, {aloud) Bless you ! 
bless you for your confidence ! my kind — my good — my dearly 
loved old darling, {going with him up, c.) Come, come, come ! 

Exeunt, c. and L, 

Phoebe. My lady's a mystery — what a change this marriage 
has made in her prospects ; from a poor governess she has be- 
come the mistress of Audley Court. We lived in the same 
family together, and she was kind enough to bring me here as an 
upper servant. She didn't forget an old friend, and I shall ever 
remember her for it. 

Enter Robert Audley and George Talboys, r. 

Robert, {coming down L. c, with George) Come along, 
George, I'm behind as usual. 

George. That was my fault, meeting with me has detained 
you. 

Robert. Don't mention it, old fellow, I am always glad to 
meet an old acquaintance, {sees Phcebe) Ah ! one of the servants 
of the hall, I presume, {to Phcebe.) 

Phcebe. Yes, sir. 

Robert. Have you been long in my uncle's service ? 

Phoebe. Shortly after his marriage with the second Lady 
Audley. 

Robert. Who'd have thought my uncle would have married 
again.? I've been abroad and never met my' new aunt. How 
does she become her new dignity ? Is she a favorite with the 
servants — with yourself, for instance ? 

Phoebe. We are old acquaintances. 

Robert, Indeed ! 

Phoebe. Oh, yes, very old acquaintances — in fact we were 
servants in the same family. 

Robert. Ah ! then you must have seen a great deal of her I 
expect. 

Phcebe. I have, sir. 

Robert. And is she worthy of being my uncle's wife, do y;ou 
think ? 



12 LAD Y A UDLE F'5 SECRET. 

Phoebe. If I were to tell you my thoughts, you'd be as wise as 
I am. For any information concerning your new aunt, Lady 
Audley, I respectfully beg leave to refer you to your uncle. 

Curtsies and exit, L. u. E. 

George. The maid and the mistress are firm friends, that's 
plainly to be seen. Heigho ! I'm almost sorry now I came with 
you, for I am no company for any one since I heard of my wife's 
death — that wife so loved — so cherished and so young. Robert, 
my marriage with her was one of impulsive passion. I had two 
thousand pounds when I first met her. I was an indolent, easy- 
going fellow, and thought the money would last forever. We 
travelled on the Continent, and I needn't tell you how soon the 
money was gone — we returned to England — a relation procured 
me an appointment abroad — I left my wife in England and sailed 
to perform the duties of my office. When I possessed the means 
to send for her, I wrote to my wife — the letter was unanswered. 
I sent a second — a third, it was then I received 

Robert. A reply from her of course. 

George. No, no, my friend ; but a newspaper with a para- 
graph surrounded by a black margin ; it caught my eye at once, 
and I read the words, " Died in London, May 2nd, i860, Helen, 
wife of George Talboys, aged 20." Oh, Bob, what a blow was 
that to me. I was toiling — saving for her — her who was my life 
— my soul — my joy ! and v/oke from my dream of hope to know 
my darling wife was dead — dead— dead ! 

Robert. My poor friend, it must, indeed, have been a shock to 
you. 

George. It crushed me for a time ; but I was obliged to fulfil 
my duties, or sacrifice my appointment. But during all that 
time, Bob, the scorching sun of India was nothing to the fire that 
was raging here — here — here ! {pressing his hatid to his fore- 
head) 

Robert. Come, come, cheer up, old boy, cheer up. It was 
through no fault of yours that your wife perished so young, 

George. Sometimes I think it was all through me. I'd no 
business to marry the girl, if I hadn't either the industry or the 
means to keep her as she deserved. Now, what atonement can I 
make ? only this, seek out her grave, and raise over it a monu- 
ment, that shall cause her memory to be respected — her fate to 
be pitied. 

Re-enter Alicia, l. u. e. 

Alicia, {to Robert) My very punctual and attentive cousin, 
what very excellent manners you have, to keep a lady waiting in 
this way. 

Robert. My dear Alicia, it was not my fault. 

Alicia. Then whose was it, pray ? 



LADY A UDLEY'S SECRET. 13 

George. Mine, madam. I am an old friend of Mr. Audley's ; 
we had not met for many years ; we had many things to speak 
of ; time flew by rapidly, and as I have retarded him from his 
appointment, let me take the blame from his shoulders to mine. 

Alicia. Then I forgive him and you too. This is my father's 
birthday, sir ; so we shall be most happy to have your society, 
sir. 

George. I fear I shall be poor company. 

Alicia. O ! my mother-in-law, Lady Audley, will soon rally you ; 
she has a wonderful spirit, and a most accommodating temper. 

Robert. What is she like, Alicia ? 

Alicia. Oh ! a perfect wax doll, as regards complexion ; fair as 
the day when in a good temper, but black as night if she can't 
rule anybody as she likes. 

Robert. And, does she rule you ? 

Alicia. I should like to catch her at it ! I'm as old as she is, 
and quite as much spirit when I think I'm put upon, but I've 
her likeness h.&rQ,(^sho'ws miniature) painted on ivory — a speak- 
ing resemblance I can assure you. [gives it to Robert) 

Robert, {looking at it) Fair as the day, as you observe ; a 
gentle innocent-looking face enough — look, George, [gives it to 
George and talks aside with Alicia) 

George, {aside ) How can they think I shall feel interested ? 
{looks at it and starts) What is this? Her{diC&\ Hers! Good 
heaven ! what can this mean ? It is the likeness of my wife ! 
some fearful mystery is here. Does she live? — live to be the wife 
of Sir Michael Audley ? Oh, for some means to be certain ! Let 
me not be rash — not a word to Robert at present. I'll linger in 
the park ; and if I have been deceived by her, woe to the traitress 
— woe — woe, and punishment ! Exit, c. and L. 

Robert, {to Alicia) Is it possible my uncle is really so in- 
fatuated with her ? 

Alicia. It's a fact, I can assure you. If I call her a wax doll, 
my father is wax itself, for she can mould him any way she 
pleases. 

. Robert. What a good easy soul the old boy is, eh, George ? 
Why he's gone ! 

Alicia. A very well-behaved young man, Robert ; he thought 
perhaps we had something to say to each other in secret. I sup- 
pose he's sauntered up to the house. 

Robert. Most likely — let us follow, {as they go up they ?neet 
Lady Audley, c.) 

Alicia, {introducing them) Lady Audley, Mr. Robert Audley. 

Lady A. {taking his hand) My dear Mr. Audley, I have been 
expecting you with the utmost impatience. I hope, sincerely 
hope, you are quite well. 

Alicia, {aside) Too civil by half. 



14 LAD Y A UD LEY'S SECRET. 

Robert. Perfectly well, I thank your ladyship. I hope my 
uncle is the same ? 

Lady A. The dear old darling is in excellent health, and on 
this his seventieth birthday is as hale and hearty a specimen of a 
fine old English gentleman as you will find in Essex. He'll be 
delighted to see you, he's been talking about you all day. Ah ! 
Mr. Audley, you don't know the favorite you are with him, but 
I don't wonder at it when I see you, for — don't think I flatter, 
Mr. Audley — there's honesty and frankness apparent in every 
feature of your manly countenance. 

Robert, {bowing) Oh really, Lady Audley, I 

Alicia, {aside) I don't like her being so familiar. I always 
dread mischief, when she talks in that manner. 

Lady A. But come, I will accompany you to Sir Michael. 

Alicia. No, /'// accompany him, we have something to talk 
about — something that concerns ourselves only, [aside) I think 
that's a pretty broad hint for her. 

Lady A. Oh, just as you please, my dears, I shall see you at 
dinner. 

Robert. Most certainly. Adieu for the present. 

Lady A. Adieu ! don't detain him too long, my dear, or I shall 
be very very cross with you. 

Alicia. How kind of you to be suddenly so friendly, mamma. 
{aside) Come along, Robert, I think the less you two meet the 
better. I saw you look at her. 

Robert. Why, my dear, I 

Alicia. I know you did, and I don't like it. Come along, sir. 

Exeunt, C. and l.. 

Lady A. {throwing off her levity of manner, and reflecting) 
It must be my aim to stand well with this young man ; he is my 
husband's favorite, I know. I manage Sir Michael as I like, and 
if his nephew gains too firm a hold upon him, he may prove a 
dangerous rival in my path. I live now for ambition and in- 
terest, to mould the world and its votaries to my own end. Once 
I was fool enough to wed for love. Now I have married for 
wealth. What a change from the wife of George Talboys to the 
wife of Sir Michael Audley ! My fool of a first husband thinks 
me dead. Oh excellent scheme, oh cunning device, how well 
you have served me. (George enters at back, and comes down 
silently to her side) Where can he be now ? Still in India no 
doubt. He is mourning my death perhaps — ha, ha ! Why I 
have only just begun to live— to taste the sweets of wealth 
and power. If I am dead to George Talboys, he is dead to 
me. Yes, I am well rid of him, and on this earth we meet no 
more. 

George, {touching her on the shoulder) Yes, we do. 

Lady A. {turning with a shriek) George Talboys ! 



LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 



15 



George. Aye, your husband ! — the husband of her who now 
calls herself Lady Audley ! Really, for a woman who has been 
dead and buried, you look remarkably well, my dear. 

Lady A. I am lost ! 

George. You turn away ; this is but a cold welcome from 
a wife to her husband, after a three years' separation. You are 
a traitress, madam ! 

Lady A. One word before we proceed further. Is it to be 
peace or war between us ? 

George. War ! war to the last ! war till I see thee placed in 
a felon's dock and sentenced by the judge. 

Lady A. Be prudent ; remember, I am now rich. 

George. But your reign will soon be over. What will be 
your position, do you think, when the world knows all ? What 
will your noble husband think, when he finds you are the wife of 
another man ? 

Lady A. Oh, spare me, spare me ! 

George. Spare you, no ! I will expose yon, woman — you 
whom 

Lady A. Whom you left here in poverty and dependence — 
whom you promised to write to from India. 

George. And to whom I did write. 

Lady A. Never! 

George, I say, yes ! 

Lady A, And I say, no ! I tell you, not one letter reached my 
hands ; I thought myself deserted, and determined to make 
reprisals on you ; I changed my name ; I entered the family of 
a gentleman as governess to his daughters ; became the patient 
drudge for a miserable stipend, that I might carry my point- 
that point was to gain Sir Michael Audley's affections ; I did so, 
I devoted all my energies, all my cunning, to that end ! and now I 
have gained the summit of my ambition, do you think I will be 
cast down by you, George Talboys .? no, I will conquer you or I 
will die ! 

George. And what means will you take to conquer me ? What 
power will you employ to silence me ? 

Lady A. The power of gold. 

George, Gold ! gold purchased by your falsehood — gold in my 
hand that has polluted yours, for which you have sold yourself 
to a man old enough to be your grandsire ! No, false woman, I 
seek not a bride, but for justice ! 

Lady A. Listen to me. I have fought too hard for my position 
to yield it up tamely. Take every jewel, every penny I have and 
leave me ! henceforth I can be nothing to you, nor you to me. 
Our first meeting was a mistake, it was the ardent passion of a 
boy and girl, which time has proved to have been ill-advised on 
either side — I am no longer the weak confiding girl you first 



i6 LAD V A UDLE Y'S SECRET. 

knew me — no, I am a resolute woman — and where I cannot re- 
move an obstacle I will crush it. 

George. Or be crushed. 

Lady A. You will turn informer then ? 

George. No, avenger — the avenger of my wrongs — the pun- 
isher of a heartless, deceitful wife. 

Lady A. {with a sardonic smile) Then you will war with a 
woman ? 

George. To the death ! 

Lady A. {starting — aside) " Death ! death ! " Aye that is the 
word — that is the only way of escape, {aloud) Then you are as 
merciless 

George. As you are crafty. Last night the luxurious mansion 
of Audley Court sheltered you — to-night a prison's roof will cover 
your head. 

Lady A. I defy you — scorn you— spurn you for a vindictive 
fool. Go to Sir Michael, if you will — denounce me, do — and I 
will swear to him that you are a liar — a madman — he will be- 
lieve me before you. I gained his heart, his soul, his unbounded 
confidence, and before there is the felon's dock for me, there 
shall be the maniac's cell for you. Ah, ha ! What think you 
now .'' 

George. That you are a fool, that passion blinds your judg- 
ment and your sense. You forget, madam, that I have a friend 
here, his name is RolDert Audley, he is devoted to me, and to 
serve me would sacrifice himself. I am not so helpless as you 
imagine, did any harm befal me, woe, woe, to the guilty one ! 

Lady A. {aside) Robert Audley, his friend ! 

George. You see I am not so easily got rid of. 

Lady A. {aside) We shall see — I have offer'd a bribe, I have 
used threats. I must now employ cunning. 

George, {seizing her by the wrist) Come. 

Lady A. One moment. I will accompany you if you will let 
me be a few seconds to myself, so that I may send a few lines in 
my tablets to Sir Michael, saying I shall never see him more. 

George. Well, be quick then, {jnusic, piano, to end of act) 

Lady A. I will. (George goes up, and as his back is turned 
she goes to the well, takes off the iron handle, and conceals it in 
her right hand behind her — aside) It is mine ! that is one point 
gained — now for the second, {aloud, pretending faintness) 
Water, water, for mercy's sake ! (George cojnes down) My head 
burns like fire ! 

George. This is some trick to escape me ; but I will not leav^e 
you. 

Lady A. I do not wish you to. Stoop down and dip this in the 
well, {gives him her white hatidker chief) that I may bathe my 



LAD V A UDLEV'S SECRET. ,7 

throbbing temples. (George takes haiidker chief and goes to 
well) Quick, quick ! 

George, [stooping down to well) It is the last service I shall 
render you. (Lady A. creeps up behind hi?n unperceived.) 

Lady A. [strikifig him with the iron handle) It is indeed 

die ! {pushes him down the well, the ruined stones fall with 
him) He is gone— gone ! and no one was a witness to the 
deed ! 

Luke, [looking on, R. U. E.) Except me ! [aside) 

Lady A. [exulting) Dead men tell no tales ! lam free ! I 
am free ! I am free ! — Ha, ha, ha ! [raising her arms in triumph, 
laughing exultingly — LUKE looks on, watching her as the drop 
falls) 

END OF ACT FIRST. 



ACT II. 



Scene First. — The Conservatory in Audley House. Stained 
wifidows, and door in flat. Flower stajids R. and l., with 
plants in pots. 

Enter SiR MICHAEL and Alicia, door in fat. 

Sir M. Patience, patience ! Robert will keep his word, never 
fear. 

Alicia. But I do fear. He thinks more of his absent friend 
than he does of me. I find him melancholy to a degree. He's 
always so deeply plunged in thought that one might as well 
speak to the doorpost. 

Sir M. He can't help thinking of the disappearance of his 
friend, and I must confess it is a most mysterious circumstance. 
A gentleman visits my mansion, and, after he has been here an 
hour or two, he suddenly disappears, and not a creature can 
find out where he has gone. Robert has paid detectives and ad- 
vertised in every paper, both London and Provincial, without 
success. I'm getting to feel as anxious as Robert on the sub- 
ject. I don't like such a mysterious circumstance being con- 
nected with Audley Court, I promise you. 

Alicia. Nor I ; for Robert and I would have been married 
before this, if this mysterious circumstance, as you call it, had 
not taken place. It always seems ominous if a wedding's post- 
poned. Oh, father, suppose I shouldn't be married at all — sup- 
pose Robert changes his mind ! 

Sir M. Absurd. Robert is too much a man of honor. 



i8 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 

Alicia. Yes, but he tells me he will never call me wife till he 
has learned what has become of his friend ; and, if he never 
learns, I shall never be married. Father, would you wish to 
have an old maid in the family ? 

Sir M. 1 might have something worse. 

Alicia. There ccuit be anything worse. /, an old maid, doomed 
to make pets of parrots, canaries, and tortoiseshell cats. Oh, 
frightful doom ! I could go into hysterics at the very thought ! 

Sir M. We must have patience in matrimonial matters, my 
dear. 

Alicia. Yon didn't have much patience then, papa ! for you'd 
no sooner lost one wife, than you began to look about for another. 
Surely a father who has had two wives, shouldn't begrudge his 
daughter one husband. 

Sir M. My dear, what the deuce would you have me do ? Pray 
have a little reason. 

Alicia. I can't ; a woman in love is never expected to have any 
reason at all. I'm surprised, papa, you don't know better. 

Sir M. Well, well, I'll speak to Robert ; or, I'll tell you abetter 
plan. Lady Audley shall talk to him. 

Enter Lady Audley at back. 

Alicia. Lady Audley needn't trouble herself. Although she's 
my mother-in-law, I'm getting to dislike her more and more every 
day. 

Lady A. {aside) Indeed ? 

Alicia. I don't believe she's sincere in her regards. She smiles 
and coaxes you, it's true ; but I sometimes fancy her looks are 
like the sunbeams on a river, which make us forget the dark 
depths which lie hidden beneath the surface. 

Sir M. Silence, Alicia, I command you ! I will not have Lady 
Audley spoken of in this manner — let me hear no more of it. 

Lady A. {advancing, c.) Oh ! let the dear girl go on, I can 
forgive her — we shall know each other better by-and-bye. Still 
it is unpleasant for me to be aware that my affection for your 
dear daughter is not reciprocated. 

Alicia. Listeners never hear any good of themselves. 

Sir M. Really, Alicia, you are growing impertinent. 

Lady A. Oh ! never heed her, my dear Sir Michael, my great 
regard iox you enables me to overlook a little asperity in her. 

Sir M. {to Lady Audley) Well, you see, my dear, Alicia is 
vexed because her marriage is postponed ; but this strange dis- 
appearance of Robert's friend Mr. George Talboys, has quite upset 
my nephew. 

Lady A. And no wonder — whatever can have become of the 
gentleman ?* I hope he has fallen into no danger — I should be so 
sorry. 



LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 19 

Sir M. I know you would, my dear, but I'll go with you, Alicia, 
and talk to Robert, perhaps he may have heard tidings of his 
friend by this time, so let us ascertain. I shall soon return, my 
dear, {to Lady Audley) Good-bye for the present, my dear. 

Lady A, Adieu, my love, don't stay long, {kissing him) 

Alicia, {aside) What an easy, good-natured fool my father is. 
I've no patience with him. {taking his arm) Come along, do, 
papa, [pulling him up stage) 

Sir M. I'm coming, my dear — I'm coming ! 

Alicia. But you're so slow, and I'm in a hurry, do make haste — 
I've no patience. 

Sir M. I know you haven't, my dear. 

Alicia. Quick then, quick ! (Exit w/M Sir Michael, hastily, c. 

Lady A. Six months have passed, and no one guesses the fate 
of George Talboys — how should they .'' The secret is here, here, 
hidden in my own breast forever. Robert Audley is sparing no 
pains to discover his dear friend. I'm afraid he'll not be success- 
ful — he little thinks he daily passes the spot where the body lies. 
I wish I could banish the remembrance of the fatal meeting from 
my mind, but I cannot. By day I think of it, and at night I can 
fancy he is before me in the solitude of my chamber, when sleep 
should be sealing my eyelids and rest bring me repose — repose, 
did I say.? I know it not, butlw///; these abject fears and 
whisperings of conscience shall be hushed. I am Lady Audley, 
powerful, rich, and unsuspected, with not one living witness to 
rise up against me. {going up) 

Enter LUKE Marks, C, flushed with drink. 

How now, fellow t 

Luke. How now, madam ? 

Lady A. You hav^e no business here. 

Luke. How do you know 1 

Lady A. {points off, R. c.) Begone. 

Luke, {taking garden chair afid sittiiig) I won't. 

Lady A. Then the servants shall make you. {going up) 

Luke, {rises) Stay, if any one hears what I'm going to say to 
yoj, you're a doomed woman 

Lady A. {coming down) What do you mean ? 

Luke, {chuckling) I knows, what I knows. 

Lady A. Well, and what is that ? 

Luke, {going up to her) Enough to hang thee, {she starts) 
Do you want me to go now ? 

Lady A. {aside) What can he know ? {aloud) vSpeak. 

Luke. Sometimes people sees us when we don't see them. Of 
course you know the old well in the lime-tree walk, and what be 
at the bottom of it .'' 

Lady A. Ah ! do you know 



20 LAD Y A UDLEY'S SECRET. 

Luke. All ! I saw thee push him in — dead men tell no tales, 
but live ones may, so if my mouth be not stopped I may open it. 

Lady A. You cannot want money, for when you were married 
to Phoebe, four months ago, I supplied her liberally — put you 
both into the inn at Mount Stanninp-, and trusted vou would do 
well. ^ ^ 

Luke. Oh ! we shall do well enough — we must when we have 
a banker \'\k& you to draw upon. Phoebe knows nothing of what 
I saw thee do, and nobody shall know, if you always give me 
what I want. 

Lady A, {aside) Oh, cursed juggling fate ! I have only de- 
stroyed one witness, to see another rise up before me, 

Luke, (aside) I've staggered her — she tinds I'm a clincher. 

Lady A. We must be friends. 

Luke. Aye, it wouldn't do for us to be enemies ; at least I 
don't think it would answer your purpose. Come, tip up. {holds 
out his hand) 

Lady A, What money do you expect .'* 

Luke, A hundred pounds will do now. 

Lady A, I'll bring it to your house ; I have not so much with 
me. 

Luke. And when will you bring the money .? 

Lady A. At dusk, you'll not have long to wait. 

Luke, {going up) Neither will I, so mind ; I must have thy 
money, or the world shall have thy secret. Exit, C. 

Lady A. How can I get rid of that man ? shall a boor, a 
drunkard, a ruffian, hold me in his grasp ready to crush me 
when he pleases ? How do I know, even if I bribe him into 
silence, that in some drunken moment he may not tell all he 
knows ? What shall I do ? Some one may see him leaving 
here ! I wonder if he has passed the gates .^ {looks off, R. C) 
Ah ! here comes Robert Audley, he must not see me with a cloud 
upon my brow ! let me again resume the mask, which not only 
imposes on him, but on all the world, {sits R. and with a pair 
of scissors, see?ns busily engaged in triinmitig the flowers in pots 
on stand) 

Enter Robert Audley, c. dressed in mournitig. 

Robert. Six months have passed, and yet no tidings of George ; 
he cannot be living, or he must have seen the advertisements 
that I have inserted, begging him to communicate with me. If 
he had died suddenly, some one would have given information 
of his death. What motive could there have been in concealing- 
it? ^ 

Lady A, {looking up smiling) Ah, Mr. Audley, you have re- 
turned then ? I heard you were in London, {trims flowers on 
stand dtiring this scene) 



LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 21 

Robert. I returned an hour ago. 

Lady A. Well, any news of your friend ? 

Robert. None. 

Lady A. How strange. 

Robert. Very strange ! 

Lady A. Let me see ; what was his name .? 

Robert. George Talboys, madam. 

Lady A. To be sure. I knew it was some " boys," but 
whether Talboys, or Shortboys, I really couldn't remember. 

Robert. You seem to treat the subject very lightly, Lady 
Audley ! 

Lady A. You are mistaken. I have thought more about your 
friend, than you would give me credit for ; the poor fellow has 
committed suicide no doubt. I daresay his wife's death preyed 
upon his mind. 

Robert. How did you know he had ever been married ? 

Lady A. Oh, he told me. 

Robert, I was not aware he had been so communicative to 
you. 

Lady A. Were you not ? oh yes, he spoke of his wife, poor 
fellow. And as he is now dead beyond doubt 

Robert. How do you know he's dead beyond doubt ? 

Lady A. Of course I don't know — how should I } but it is 
only natural to think so. 

Robert. You have no other reasons for thinking so, then ? 

Lady A. [laughing) Why, what a curious fellow you are, you 
cross-examine one like a lawyer, but an open-hearted creature 
like me, has little talent for concealment. I am one of those 
silly beings, Mr. Audley, who have a weakness for telling all they 
know and all they hear — ^just like the women, isn't it. 

Robert. I should not have thought you one of that class, my 
lady. 

Lady A. Oh ! but I am — ask Sir Michael. Are you fond of 
flowers, Mr. Audley ? 

Robert. Very, but the flower I most value you do not seem to 
possess. 

Lady A. And that is 

Robert. Hearfs-ease ! 

Lady A. [aside) What does he mean ? [aloud) Heart's ease ? 
Well, you see, Mr. Audley, I have so much of my own that I can 
afford to dispense with its botanical namesake. 

Robert. Indeed ! I have remarked lately that you have been 
very /// at ease. 

Lady A. How kind of you to watch my health so closely. I 
fancied I was looking remarkably well. 

Robert. You appear so, but you are not ; your eyes are not 
half so bright as they were when I first came here— still I grant 



22 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 

you they may be as sharp. Your manner is more anxious-— you 
fall into deep reflection, and sometimes do not answer until you 
have been twice spoken to, then you suddenly rally and assume 
a levity which is forced and unnatural in my eyes. 

Lady A. Oh ! in your eyes — one would think such observation 
very impertinent were they to attach any importance to it. 

Robert. Madam, George Talboys was my friend. 

Lady A. Well, but he wasn't mine — why do you bore 7ne 
about the fellow t I thought you such an agreeable young man 
when you first came here ; pray change the subject. 

Robert. No, madam, 1 am chained to it. bound to it like a 
slave. I feel certain my friend has perished treacherously, that 
some one's hand was raised against his life, and fell fatally on 
my poor and unsuspecting friend. 

Lady A. Ah ! friendship is a very sacred tie, no doubt. 

Robert, {taking chair atid sitting by her side) So is marriage. 

Lady A. {repeating his words carelessly) So is marriage. 
{aside) What is coming now ? 

Robert. George Talboys' wife was very like you, Lady Audley. 

Lady A. Indeed — such resemblances will occur. She died 
young, I believe. 

Robert. I question whether she died at all. 

Lady A. Why? 

Robert. Because if she did she lives again in you. 

Lady A. Ah ! you said just now I resembled her — when, pray, 
did you ever see George Talboys' wife ? 

Robert. I never saw her ; but, amongst my poor friend's 
luggage left at the hotel, I found this miniature, set in a locket. 
{shows it) Madam, this \s yotcr likeness. 

Lady A. {starts up) Prove it ! 

Robert. I have a further proof. Since I have been here, T 
have reniarked your handwriting closely, and compared it with 
this letter, {produces one) found with this likeness. You are 
Helen Talboys, and can tell me the fate of my friend. He has not 
been seen since he met you in the Lime-Tree walk ; and, I tell 
you plainly, he has disappeared, either through your means or 
those of your accomplices; but I will find him, either living or 
dead ; \{ living, you shall meet the punishment of a bigamist ; if 
dead, the fate of a murderess. 

Lady A. {with fury) Fool ! why do you wage war with me 
— why do you make me your enemy ? Tremble, if I am ; for, if 
we are foes, I ;;z?/i'/ triumph over you. Do you hear.? must — 
for victory yields me safety — defeat, death! Even if your sus- 
picions are right, what good will it do you ? I will tell you ; it 
will break your uncle's heart, and disgrace his family, tarnish 
the escutcheon of the proud Audley family, and leave a stain on 
the race forever. 



LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 23 

Robert, {aside) She is right. I did not thinlc of that. 
^ Lady A. Tal<e my advice, and keep your suspicions to your- 
self ; reflect, are we to be friends or foes ? 

Robert. Foes. Lady Audley, you must leave here ; no one 
must know your destination ; do this, and you are safe. I will 
give you until to-morrow to reflect. Agree to this, and I will be 
silent ; refuse, and I will tell all, and let the law have its own. 

Exit, C. 

Lady A. Closer and closer around me, seems to draw the 
circle, which threatens to bind me within its folds. Shall I yield 
to his menaces, and leave rank, wealth, and position because he 
merely suspects me ? No ; my motto has, hitherto, been death 
or victory ; and to that end I am fixed, {going up, meets SiR 
Michael and Alicia re-entering) Ah ! my dear Sir Michael — 
my dear Alicia ! I have been so lonely without you. {with a 
sudde?i change of 7nanner) 

Alicia. Not very lonely, I should think, when my cousin 
Robert has been with you. {aside) He's smitten with her ; I 
know he is. 

Sir M. What the deuce does the girl mean ? Can't my nephew 
speak to my wife without all this hubbub .'' 

Alicia. It depends upon what subjects he speaks. 

Lady A. {aside) A good idea. I'll work upon it. 

Sir M. And pray, my dear, do you think my nephew would be 
so ungentlemanly as to speak upon any subjects to Lady Audley, 
except those of duty and respect .-* 

Alicia. I know he's struck with her, father, and she with him. 

Sir M. Lady Audley, you hear what this silly, jealous girl 
says. Pray, set her doubts at rest. 

Lady A. {sighs) I wish I could ; but the fact is, my dear hus- 
band, Mr. Robert Audley is too agreeable — too fond of my 
society. 

Alicia. I knew it — I knew it. Oh, papa ! isn't it shameful of 
him ? 

Sir M. I'm amazed. 

Lady A. I took him to be such a nice, gentlemanly young man ; 
but how we may be mistaken. The fact is, Sir Michael, I think 
it would be better — much better — if Mr. Robert left here at once. 
I feel embarrassed in his presence, and 

Sir M. And shall be so no longer ; he shall leave here this 
very night. 

Lady A. But pray don't mention my name in the matter. 

Sir M. No, no, I'll not give him any reasons. I'll get rid of 
him the best way I can. 

Lady A. {to Sir Michael) My dear kind considerate old angel. 
{kissing him) I love you more and more every day. And you, 
my poor girl, how shamefully has Robert treated you. Come 



24 LADY AUDLETS SECRET. 

with me, and I'll tell you such things about him, that will, I'm 
sure, prevent you ever again speaking to him. 

Alicia, (weeping) Oh, the false, deceitful, perfidious, perjured^ 
profligate ! 

Lady A. Dry your tears, my dear ; he's not worth thinking 
about. Send him away at once, Sir Michael; of all things in the 
world, I hate hypocrisy the most. Come, my dear, come ; forget 
the base fellow, forget him. 

Alicia. I will, I will — oh, the artful crocodile ! 

Exeunt Lady Audley, and Alicia, r. i e. 

Sir M. Now, if I were like some husbands, I should be jealous 
of this precious nephew of mine ; but with a woman like Lady 
Audley, I am so perfectly sure of my family honor remaining 
pure and unsullied, that I can lay comfort to my heart, and hold 
her up as a paragon of goodness to all the world. Oh ! here 
comes the scapegrace. 

Re-enter Robert, c. 
I wished to see you, Robert. I want you to go to London to- 
night. 

Robert. To London ? 

Sir M. Well, to leave here at any rate ; it will be better for all 
parties. 

Robert. What is the matter ? You look disturbed. Has any- 
thing unpleasant occurred .? How can I serve you ? 

SirM. By doing as I have told you. Take this, {gives note) 
That will pay your expenses. My honor, my peace demands 
your absence from here at once, nephew. I will write to you 
and explain my meaning more fully. Go, go ! I believe your 
head to be in error, not your heart./ Not a word, but obey me, 
or we may never be friends again^^go, go, go. 

i Exit Sir Michael, l. u. e. 

Robert. This is strange. Ah ! I comprehend, this is Lady 
Audley's work ; she has been influencing my uncle against me. 
No matter, I will leave to-night, or it may be the means of still 
further prejudicing him against me ; but I wil] not go far — no, I 
will be near at hand to watch my lady, and if needs be to show 
her to the world in her true colors. Exit, C 

Lady Audley looks on^ r. 

Lady A. Yonder he goes ; I have gained one point ; now, to 
see Luke Marks and strive for the second. Exit, C. 

Scene Second. — Exterior of the Castle Inft, at Mount Stanning, 
painted on flat — First grooves. 

Enter Phcebe now the wife of Luke — looks from door towards, R. 



LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 25 

Phoebe. What a time Luke has gone, where can he be ? I 
fear he'll fall into the river some dark night when these drinking 
fits are on him. My lady very kindly put us in this Inn, but it 
has done us little good ; Luke only insults the customers, and 
drinks all the spirits himself. I made a sad day's work of it 
when I married him. (Luke sings without, R.) Here he comes, 
and in his usual state ! How will this wretched life end ? 
Enter Luke, R,, intoxicated. 

Luke. Is that you, Phoebe ? 

Phoebe. Yes, Luke ; what a time you have been ! The land- 
lord has been here for his rent. 

Luke. And he shall have it ; everybody shall have everything ; 
leave it all to me, I'll pay 'em. 

Phoebe. But where will you get the money ? 

Luke. From a gold mine, a perfect gold mine, that I've only 
got to draw on when I like. 

Phoebe. What do you mean 1 

Luke. What's that got to do wi' you ? You leave me to mind 
my own business, and I warrant I'll make my lady come down 
whenever I like. 

Phoebe. Do you mean my Lady Audley ? 

Luke. Of course I do. She's coming here to-night to bring 
me some money ; aye, and she shall come again and again when- 
ever I choose to send for her. 

Phoebe. You have been drinking, Luke, and don't know what 
you say. 

Luke. Don't I "^ If you only knew your book as well as I 
know mine, you could play as winning a game. 

Phcebe. But I don't understand 

Luke. Nobody wants you to, I tell thee, my lass. We can af- 
ford to let this ramshackle shed of a paltry inn go to sack as fast 
as it likes ; we'll live as gentlefolks, and do nought — nought but 
eat, drink, and enjoy ourselves. 

Phoebe. Go in, Luke, and lie down, you are not yourself. 

Luke. Bean't I .'' We'll see about that. You don't seem to 
believe me ; but I tell thee, if I liked, I could bring my lady 
down on her marrow bones afore me, aye, afore me, Luke 
Marks, the drunkard, the scamp, and the idler, as folks call him. 

Phoebe. Go in, Luke, go in. I see Mr. Robert coming, {look- 
ing, R.) 

Luke. Let him come. I don't value his opinion a rush. I 
knows what I knows, and means to make the most on't. 
Enter Robert Audley, r. 

Robert. I want to lodge in your house to-night, Luke. I've 
left the Hall. 
Luke ««^/ Phoebe. Left the Hall } 




LAD Y A UDLEY'S SECRET. 

Robert. Aye, there is a little difference between my uncle and 
myself, but I don't want to leave the neighborhood until after 
to-morrow ; so if you can accommodate me, I'll put up with any 
fare you can give me, 

Phoebe. It will only be very humble, Mr. Robert. 

Robert. No matter; humble and honest is better any day than 
fine fare and falsehood. 

Phoebe. I'll make you as comfortable as I can, depend upon 
it, sir. Exit to Inn. 

Luke. I see how it be ; you and fine madam up yonder can't 
stable your horses together, I reckon. Oh, she be a proud dame, 
but let her look out, or may be her pride may have a fall. 

Robert. I saw you coming from the Hall not long ago, 

Luke. Aye, I had been to see her. 

Robert. Will you excuse me asking you what your business 
was with Lady Audley ? 

Luke. No, I won't excuse thee. I'm not going to make any 
man as wise as myself, so as he can kill my goose for the sake of 
the golden eggs. No, no. 

Robert, {aside) What can he know regarding Lady Audley ? 
Something that would serve me, perhaps, (aloud) Luke, tell me 
your secret, and I will give you ten guineas. 

Luke. Tell you my secret for ten guineas, when I can get one 
hundred for keeping it ? Not likely. 

Robert. But suppose you should be made to tell it ? 

Luke. " Made ! " who can do that ? not you. Brag is a good 
dog, but Holdfast is a better. 

Robert, (aside) I see soft words will go farther than hard ones 
with this fellow, (aloud) Well, we'll change the subject, Luke, 
and you shall join me in a mug of ale. You'll find that more to 
your palate, I reckon. 

Luke. Ecod ! you reckon right. Since I've been landlord here 
I've had ale for breakfast, ale for lunch, ale for dinner, ale for tea, 
and ale for supper. 

Robert. You'll drink away all your profits, Luke. 

Luke. A straw for the profits. I don't depend on this place to 
keep me, but upon what I knows. 

Robert, (aside) If I ply him with drink, I may get it out of 
him, (aloud) This is dry work, let's get inside, Luke, I'll pay 
for all we have to-night, 

Luke, Then you're a Briton. Come in, a gentleman like you 
be always welcome, 'specially when he pays for all. (calls 
within) Phoebe ! Phoebe ! draw a quart of ale from the third 
barrel ; ecod ! she can't draw it from any other, 'cos they be all 
empty, (aside) Follow me, sir, (aloud) I feel honored by your 
company, I do indeed. The ale, Phoebe ; the ale, my lass. 

Exit to Inn. 



LAD V A UDLE Y'S SECRET. 27 

Robert. Something seems to whisper in my ear that this fellow 
knows something of my friend's fate. I'll watch him like a lynx, 
and if I once get on the scent, never will I leave it till the guilty 
are hunted dow^n. Exit to Inn. 

Enter Lady Audley, in cloak and hood, r. 

Lady A. This is one of the curses of my position — to be obliged 
to w^ait on this drunken animal, and endure his brutal taunts 
and insolent threats. Well, I must bide my time. I cannot hope 
to break the net that clings around me by a single effort, I must 
proceed cautiously, {knocks at door — Phcebe comes out.) 

Phoebe. Good evening, my lady. Luke told me you were 
coming. 

Lady A. Indeed ; and did he tell you why I was coming? 

Phoebe. To bring some money, he said. 

Lady A. For what ? 

Phoebe. He did not say. 

Lady A. Are you sure ? 

Phoebe. I am. Surely, my lady, you don't think I'd tell you 
a falsehood after your kindness to us. 

Lady A. Where is your husband now ? 

Phoebe. In the bar, drinking with Mr. Robert Audley. 

Lady A. Robert Audley here .? and in your husband's 
company .'' 

Phoebe. Yes ; and talking about some secret matter I should 
fancy, by the way they whisper to each other. 

Lady A. {aside) If Luke should betray me ! 

Phoebe. Will you walk in, my lady ? you can come into my 
room, without any one seeing you. 

Lady A. Yes, I \\\\\ come in for a few moments ; but not a 
word to Robert Audley of my being here. 

Phcebe. Depend on me, my lady. This way, madam. 

Exit into Inn. 

Lady A. Robert Audley is bent on my destruction ; if I do not 
crush him, he will crush me— two of my foes are within — two 
against one. 1 may be over-matched ; but I am not yet over- 
come. Exit into hin— Music. 

Scene Third. — A divided Scene of two rooms ; in R. a table, 
chairs, and flight of steps, supposed to lead to a hayloft, in C. 
fiat J a door piece, R., and key in it ; in L. room, table, chair, 
and window in flat, showing 7noonlight perspective. 

Robert and Luke drinking at table in R, roo7n ; a candle on 
table ; LUKE smoking. 
Luke. And that's how the case stands ; what I knows I means 



28 LADY A UDLEYS SECRET. 

to let no one else know. You won't get to the bottom of me as 
easily as I shall get to the bottom of this, {draining tankard) 

Robert, {aside) It will have to be a work of time with this 
fellow. If I could find a pretext for staying here a few days longer, 
in some of his drunken moments he might disclose all. I'll not 
be daunted. No, George Talboys, whether you be alive or dead, 
I am firm to my purpose to see justice done you. 

Luke. What be thee muttering about .? this be slow work ; sing 
us a song. 

Robert. No, no, it's getting late. 

Luke. What o' that ? this be my house, the Castle — and as 
every Englishman's house be his Castle, in course I be master 
of the Castle, and I say — {rising) How the Castle be going round 
— my castle be turning into a windmill, I do fancy, {staggering) 
Phoebe, Phoebe — {calling) — another tankard of ale. 

Robert, {rising) No, no, not to-night. 

Luke. I can't sleep without it, it be my nightcap. I think 
Phoebe has followed the example o' my pipe and gone out. Phoebe, 
I say ! {calling and trying to light his pipe from candle on table. 
After several attempts to do so through the following speech of 
Robert's, he sinks down with his head on table asleep) 

Robert. The more I think of it, the more I'm convinced this 
man is concerned in the disappearance of George Talboys. He 
is too far gone to-night for me to question him. He scorned my 
first bribe ; my second must be larger. On what other plan can 
I hit ? I'll consider it over a cigar. {Music — takes out cigar case 
and lights cigar.) 

Enter Phcebe and Lady Audley, l. rootn. 

Lady A. Not a word to Robert Audley that I am here. 

Phoebe. Not a word. 

Lady A. Send your husband to me. 

Phoebe. I will, my lady, if he's in a fit state. 

Lady A. Fit or not, I must see him. I must have no more of 
his visits tothe Hall. Go. 

PhcBbe. I don't think you'll be able to make any sense of him. 
{Exit into R. room and shakes Luke.) Luke ! Luke ! 

Robert. He's too far gone in drink, my dear, to pay any atten- 
tion to you ; and as I don't find him very lively company, I'll go 
to bed if you j)lease. {rises) 

Phoebe. Certainly, sir. {lights another catidle which she takes 
from small table or chimney-piece.) It's not the sort of (^e^n'^^^^^i^ 
you have been used to, sir. y^fc''*^ 

Robert. It's immaterial to me : an honest man can sleep as 
sound on straw as on down. 

Phoebe. This is the room, sir. 

Exit, ^. door, followed by ROBERT. 



',,^ - LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 29 

Lady Audley peeps into R. room. 
Lady A. {looking at Luke) Phoebe was right. I don't think 
I shall be able to make any sense of him. So Robert Audley 
sleeps in yonder room — would he slept his last I How am I to 
arouse this brute without Robert Audley hearing me ? I had 
better wait here until he sleeps. 

Re-enter Ph(EBE, R.door, without candle. 

Phoebe. I wish you could call in the morning, or leave word 
with me what you would have Luke do. 

Lady A. No, this is the only time I have, it is impossible to 
say where I may be to-morrow. I want you to walk part of the 
way home with me. Go on the road and I'll overtake you. 

Phoebe, But I'm afraid to leave Luke when he's in drink : he 
may set the house on fire. 

Lady A. {aside, starting) The " house on fire ! " a good idea. 
{aloud) Go, go, good Phoebe ; if your husband is too far gone to 
listen to me, I will soon overtake you. Go, go, I say. 

Phoebe, {aside) Whatever can she have to say to Luke. 

Exit L. — Music. 

Lady A. {looking towards R. door) I wonder if he sleeps. 
{Music — she peeps in at R. door, a7td speaks through Music) 
All seems quiet, {locks R. door) He's safe. I have but one 
terrible agent to aid me, and that is fire. {Music — takes up 
candle — goes to hayloft — looks into a7id enters it — The reflection 
of fire is seen withifi — she rc-ejiters, and places catidle on table 
— locks the door which parts the rooms in center, and Exit, L. 
door. The fire grows stronger, and Luke wakes up) 

Luke. Why, what is this ? — fire. Phoebe, Phoebe ! Help, help ! 
{tries to open door which parts the rooms) Why, it is fast. 
Phoebe, Phoebe, I say. Ah ! I may escape by this room, {goes to 
R. door, and tries it) Why, that be fast too. Oh, mercy — mercy ! 
help, help ! The fire grows stronger and stronger. Oh, mercy 
— mercy! Great Heaven — I know I've been a bad and wicked 
man, but oh, save me ! Save me, some one. I choke — I choke ! 
I die — I die ! Mercy ! help ! mercy ! {Music— staggers up and 
falls, as scene is closed in) 

Scene Fourth. — The road through Audley Park, {ist grooves). /^ 
Enter Phcebe, l. p^/m^^^ 

Phoebe, I can't understand at all why my lady sent me on^^mt. 
What could she have to say to Luke, that she feared my hear- 
ing ? I dared not ask her, for she's a strange woman, and I did 
not like to question her. I wish I'd never left her service, to 
marry Luke ; but I had promised him, and thought marriage 
would reform him ! but that's a hopeless task, for every day sees 
him sink deeper and deeper in dissipation. I'll get a little farther 



30 LADY AUDLEVS SECRET.. ' j, 

on the road. I suppose Lady Audley won't be long before she 
overtakes me. {going R.) Why, who comes liere ? Wtiy7 I de- 
clare, if it isn't Miss Audley ; and what deep trouble she seems 
in. Music. 

Enter Alicia, r. 

Alicia. Is that you Phoebe } 

Phoebe. Yes, Miss. 

Alicia. Oh, I'm so glad to see you ! My father, my poor 
father I he has been struck down by a terrible fit, and his speech 
is fast leaving him. Oh ! where can Lady Audley be — where is 
Robert ? He asks for them so anxiously ; his only wish is to 
see them. They tell me Robert was seen going towards your 
inn — is he there ? 

Phoebe. Yes — yes. 

Alicia. Oh, go to him ! quick — quick ; pray do. I must 
hasten back, for I am in suspense — in agony — away from my 
father. Oh, haste, Phoebe, haste ! Exit R. 

Phoebe. I will — I will. Miss. I must let my lady know of this. 
{going I., meefs Lady i\\}DLY.Y entering) Oh, my lady, such sad 
news! Sir Michael has been taken suddenly — dangerously ill. He 
wishes to see you and Mr. Audley instantly — instantly, my lady. 

Lady A. Can this be true — who told you ? 

Phoebe. Miss Alicia. She was going to our house, to seek 
Mr. Robert. 

Lady A . {aside). How lucky she did not ; she might have 
given the alarm of fire, and saved him. 

Phoebe. Let me run instantly, and inform him, my lady, 
{going L., Lady Audley seises her by the wrist) 

Lady A. No, stay you here ; I will go. 

Phoebe. {looks off, l.) Oh, look ! look, my lady ! there is a fire 
in the direction of our house. 

Lady A. Nonsense, nonsense ; it is quite a contrary way — in 
the direction of Brentwood, I should say. 

Phoebe. No, no ; I am certain it is at Mount Stanning, my 
lady. I must, I will go to be satisfied. 

Lady A. You shall not. Come with me to the Hall, I may re- 
quire you. Did you not say just now, girl, that Sir Michael was 
dangerously ill ? 

Phoebe. But I have a husband also, maclam ; and, bad as he 
i's, it is my duty to see to his safety. 

Lady A. Let the drunken sot perish if he will. He is a curse, 
a disgrace to you and — 

Phoebe. And therefore not fit to die. Why do you hold me ? 
Why do you wish to prevent me returning home ? You have 
some wicked motive, I can see it in your eye. 

Lady A. You are mistaken, girl. 



LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. 3' 

Phoebe. No ; I feel convinced I am right. I see it all now. 
Luke was the possessor of some terrible secret ; you wished him 
out of the way, and Mr. Robert too. That was your niotive for 
wishing me to leave you alone at the inn. Oh ! cruel, wicked 
woman ! what did my husband know of you that you should 
wish him dead ? , • -i i 

Lady A. He knew too much, but now he is silenced. 

Phoebe. But I am not ! I will denounce you to justice— I wil 
proclaim you as a murderess ! Help ! help ! Murder ! Help ! 

^ Lady A. Silence ! Come '.—come !— come ! Music. 

PhJbe. Never, never. Help ! help ! (Lady Audley drags 
her off, resisting, R.) 

Scene Fifth.— r/z^Z/w^ Tree Avenue and Well, as in ACT L 
Moonlight, which falls on the old Well. 

PHOEBE/.? heard without calling for help, and is dragged on by 
Lady Audley, r. 2 e. 

Lady A. Come, come. To the Hall ! to the Hall ! 
Phoebe. No. I will not ; you mean mischief towards me, I am 
sure you do. r • 1 

Lady A. No, girl, no ; I am your friend. 

Enter Robert Audley, who, coming between them from L. 
takes FncEBEfrom Lady Audley's grasp. 

Robert. (/^Phoebe) Away to your husband, girl, and see if 
there is any help for him. „ . r y/ r 

Phoebe, Thank you, bless you, sir. Exit hastily, L. 

Robert, {to Lady Audley) Now, madam, we will come to a 
reckoning. 

Lady A. {recoils from him) Alive ! 

Robert. Aye, to punish and expose you. You thought to trap 
me to silence me, by dooming me to a dreadful death. But 
Heaven be praised I was not sleeping when your wicked hands 
set fire to the house. No, I live to be your fate, and the avenger 
of my friend. , . , • i 5 

Lady A. What will you do ?— proceed without evidence .'' 
And who are y^« that dare accuse me ? Who are you that oppose 
yourself to me so constantly. I have wealth, boundless wealth, 
and I will use it to crush you— to crush you, Robert Audley. 

Robert. How ? ■., x • ^ 2,^ 

Lady A. Thus ! {rushes towards him with poignard, ne 

wrenches it from her hand) 

Robert. And thus I rob the serpent of its sting ! 
Lady A. Let me pass. 



32 LAD Y A UDLE Y' S SECRET. 

Robert. Never ! the law shall have its own. 
Lady A. And who is to be my accuser .'' 

Enter Luke, supported by Peasants a7id Phcebe, l. 

Luke. I, thank Heaven ! I am spared to do an act of justice 
before I end my gruilty life. I accuse that woman of 

Robert. No ! hold, hold. It will be better not to cast a stain 
upon my uncle's name. Say nothing I beg, I entreat of you. 

Luke. Then I will be silent, silent for ever — ever — ever, {falls 
back in the ar?Hs of the PEASANTS) 

Lady A. {aside) He is dead, and I shall triumph over them all. 
{the great bell of the Castle is now heard tolling) 

Enter Alicia frotn back, followed by Servants. 

Alicia. Robert ! Robert ! my father is dead. Oh, pity me ! 
pity and protect me ! {goes to Robert) 

Robert. Sir Michael dead ! Now vengeance take thy own ! 
Friends, hear me : — I accuse that woman of the murder of my 
friend, George Talboys, 

Lady A. How and where "i 

Luke, {revives) /—I will tell that. She pushed him down 
that well, {points to well, all start) but it will be useless to search 
there now, lor George Talboys is 

Enter George Talboys, r. 2 e. 

George. Here ! (LUKE falls back dead) 

Onmes. Alive ! 

Lady A, {petrified) Alive ! alive ! you alive ! 

George. Back, woman ! and thank that man {points to Luke) 
that you have not my death upon yoursoul. You will be scorned, 
loathed, and despised by all. The blow you struck me rendered 
me an invalid for months. I have been silent until to-day, be- 
cause I gave my word to that poor, dying wretch, {points to 
Luke) But now I am free— free to tell all. Speak to her, speak 
to her, Robert, and say I forgive her. {points to Lady Audley) 

Robert, {to Lady Audley) You hear, woman ! 

Lady A. {vacantly) But I do not heed. I have a rich husband. 
They told me he was dead — but no, they lied— see— see, he stands 
there ! Your arm— your arm, Sir Michael. We will leave this 
place— we will travel. Never heed what the world says— I have 
no husband but you — none — none ! It is time to depart, the 
carriage is waiting. Come— come— come ! 

George. What does she mean, Robert } 

Robert. Mean ! Do you not see she is mad ? 

Omnes. {retreating from her) Mad ! 



LAD V A UD LEY'S SECRET. 33 

Lady A. Aye — aye ! {laug-hs wildly) Mad, mad, that is the 
word. I feel it here — here ! {places her hands on her temples) 
Do not touch me — do not come near me — let me claim your 
silence — your pity — and let the grave, the cold grave, close over 
Lady Audley and her Secret, {falls — dies — Music — tableau of 
sympathy — GEORGE Talboys kneels over her) 



CURTAIN. 




UNCLE TOM'S CABIN (NEW VERSION.) 

A MELODRAMA IN FIVE ACV'S, BY CHAS. TOWN SEND, 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Seven male, five female characters (some of the characters play two parts). 
Time of playing, •2'% hours. This is a new acting edition of a prime old favorite, 
so simplified iii the stage-setting as to be easily represented by dramatic clubs and 
travelling companies with limited scenery. Uncle Tom's Cabin is a play that never 
grows old ; being pure and faultless, it commands the praise of the pulpit and sup- 
port of the press, while it enlists the favor of all Christians and heads of families, it 
will draw hundreds where other plays draw dozens, and therefore is sure to fill any hal . 

Synopsis of Incidents: Act I. — Scene I. — The Shelby plantation in Kentucky. — 
George and Eliza. — The curse of Slavery. — The resolve. — Off for Canada. — " I won't 
be taken — I'll die first." — Shelby ?nd Haley. — Uncle Tom and Harry must be sold. — 
The poor mother. — '' Sell my boy ! " — The faithful slave. Scene II. — Gumption 
Cute. — " By Gum !" — Marks, the lawyer. — A mad Yankee.— George in disguise. — A 
friend in need. — The human bloodhounds. — The escape. — *' Hooray fer old Var- 
mount ! " 

Act II. — St. Clare's elegant home. — The fretful wife. — The arrival. — Little Eva. — 
Aunt Ophelia and Topsy — " O, Golly! Use so wicked ! "—St. Clare's opinion. — 
" Benighted innocence."— The stolen gloves. — Topsy in her glory. 

Act III. — The angel child. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's mischief. — Eva's re- 
quest.— The promise.— pathetic scene. — Death of Eva. — St. Clare's grief. — " For thou 
art gone forever." 

Act IV. — The lonely house. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's keepsake.— Deacon 
Perry and Aunt Ophelia.— Cute on deck. — A distant relative. — The hungry visitor. — 
Chuck full of emptiIle^s."— Cute and the Deacon. — A row. — A fight.— Topsy to the 
rescue. — St. Clare wounded. — Death of St. Clare. — " Eva— Eva — 1 am coming " 

Act V. — Leeree's plantation on the Red River. — Home again. — Uncle Tom's 
noble heart.—" My soul ain't yours, Mas'r.'' — Legree'scruel work. — Legrte and Cassy. 
— The white slave.— A frichtened brute..— l.egree's fear. — A life of sin.— Marks and 
Cute. — Anew scheme. — The dreadful whipping of Uncle Tom.— Legree punished at 
last. — Death of Uncle Tom. — Eva in Heaven. 



THE WOVEN WEB. 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS, BY CHAS. TOWNSEND. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Seven male, three female characters, viz. : leading and second juvenile men, so- 
ciety villain, walking gentleman, eccentric comedian, old man, low comedian, leading 
juvenile lady, soubretie and old womjn. Time of pl.iying, 2^ hours. The Woven Web 
is a flawless drama, pure in thought and action, with excellent characcers, and pre- 
senting no difficulties in costumes or scenery. The story is captivating, with a plot 
of the most intense and unflagging interest, rising to a natural clima.x of wonderful 
power. The wit is bright and sparkling, the action ler^e, sharp and rapid. In touch- 
ing the great chord of human sympathy, the author has expended that rare skill 
which has given life to every great play known to the stage. This play has been 
produced under the author's management with marked success, and will prove 
an unquestionable attraction wherever presented. 

Synopsis of Incidents: Act I.- Parkhurst & Manning's law office. New York. 
— Tim's opinion. — The young lawyer. — " Majah Billy Toby, sah ! " — Love and law. 
— Bright prospects. — Bertha's misfortune. — A false friend.— The will destroyed.— A 
cunning plot. — Weaving the web. — The unseen witness. — The letter. — Accused. — 
Dishonored. 

Act 1 1. — Winter quarters. — Colonel Hastings and Sergeant Tim. — Moses. — A 
message. — Tim on his dignity. — The arrival. — Playing soldier. — The secret. — The 
promise. — Harry in danger. — Love and duty. — The promise kept. — " Saved, at the 
loss of my own honor ! " 

Act hi. — Drawing-room at Falconer's. — Reading the news. — "Apply to Judy ! " 
— Louise's romance. — Important news. — Beriha's fears. — Leamington's arrival — 
Drawing the web. — Threatened. — Plotting. — Harry and Bertha. — A fiendish lie. — I' ace 
to face.—" Do you know him ? " — Denounced. — *' Your life shall be the penalty ! " — 
Startling tableau. 

Act IV. — At Uncle Toby's. — A wonderful climate. — An impudent rascal. — A bit 
of history. — Woman's wit. — Toby Indignant. — A quarrel. — Uncle Toby's evidence. — 
Leamington's la-^t trump. — Good news. — Checkmated. — The telegram. — Breaking 
the web. — Sunshine at last. 

X^^" Copies mailed, postpaid, to any address, on 7-eceipt 0/ the annexed prices. J^ 



SAVED FROM THE WRECK. 

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female characters : Leading comedy, juvenile mnn, genteel 
villain, rough villain, light comedy, escaped convict, detective, utility, juvenile 
lady, leading comedy lady nnd old woman. Two interior and one laiid>c..pe bcenes. 
Modern costumes. Time of playing, two hours and a half. _ The scene of the action 
is laid on the New Jersey coast. The plot is of absorbing interest, the "business" 
effective, and the ingenious contrasts of comic and serious situations present a con- 
tinuous series of surprises for the spectators, whose interest is increasingly maintained 
up to the final tableau. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. Thk Home of thk Light-housk Keeper. — An autumn afternoon. — 
The insult.— True to herself.— A fearless heart. -The unwelcome guest.— Only a 
foundling.— An abuse of confidence.— The new partner.— The compact.— The dead 
brought to life.— Saved from the wreck.— Legal advice.— Married for money.— A 
golden chance. — The intercepted letter. — A vision of wealth.— The forgery.— Within 
an inch of his life.— The rescue.— Tableau. _ 

Act II. ScENH as eefork ; time, night.— Dark clouds gathering.— Changing 
the jackets.— Father and son.— Un duty.— A struggle for fortune.— Loved for himself. 
The diviJed greenbacks.- The agreement. -An unhappy life.— The detective's mis- 
take.— Arrested.— Mistaken ideniity.— '1 he likeness again.— On the right track —The 
accident —" Will she l)e saved? "—Latour's bravery.— A noble sacrifice.— The secret 
meeting. — Another case of mistaken identity.— The murder.— " Who did it ? "—The 
torn cuff.— "There stands the murderer !"—" 'Tis false ! "—The wrong man mur- 
dered. — Who was the victim ?— Tableau. 

Act III. Two Days Later.- Plot and counterplot.— Gentleman and convict. — 
i:- price of her life.— Some new documents.— The divided banknotes.— Sunshine 
through the clouds.— Prepared for a watery grave —Deadly peril.— Fath'^rand daugh- 
ter. Ti •* rising tide. — A life for a signature. — True unto death. — Saved. — The mys- 
tery solved. — Denouement. —Tableau. 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. 

A COMEDY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female, and utility characters : Leading juvenile man, first and 
second walking gentleman, two light comedians (lawyer and foreign adventurer), 
Dutch and Irish character comedians, villain, soldiers ; leading juvenile lady, walk- 
ing lady and comedienne. 'I'hree interior scenes ; modern and military costumes. 
Time of playing, two hours and a half. Apart from unusual interest f-f plot and skill 
of construction, the play affords an opportunity of representing the progress of a 
real battle in the distance (though this is not necessarj' to the action). The comedy 
business is delicious, if well worked up, and a startling phase of the slavery questioa 
is sprung upon the audience in the last act. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. At Fort Lee, on the Hudson.— News from the war. — The meeting. 
—The colonel's strange romance.— Departing for the war.— The intrusted packet.— An 
honest man —A last request.— Bitt<"r hatred.— The dawn of love.— A northerner s 
sympathy for the South.— Is he a traitor ?— Held in trust.— La Creole mine for sale.— 
Financial agents.— A brother's wrong.- An order to cross the enemy s lines.— tor- 
tune's fool.— Love's penalty.— Man's independence.— Strange disclosures.— A sha- 
dowed life.— Beggared in pocket, and bankrupt in love.— His last chance.— 1 he re- 
fusal —Turned from home.— Alone, without a name —Off to the war.— I ableau. 

Act II. On THE Battlefield. —An Irishman's philosophy.— Unconscious of 
danger —Spies in the camp.— The insult.— Risen from the ranks.— The colonel's prej- 
udice.- Letters from ho'.ie.-Thc plot to ruin.— A token of love -True to him.— 
The plotters at work.— Breaking the seals.— The meeting of husband and wife.— A 
forlorn hope.— Doomed as a spy.— A struggle for lost honor.— A soldiers death.— 

Act III Before Richmond.— The home of Mrs. Do Mori.— The two docu- 
ments -A little mi>understanding.— A deserted wife.-Thc truth revealed.-Brought 
to light.-Mother and child. -Rowena's sacrifice.— The A mmcan Eagle spreads his 
wings.- The spider's web.— True to himself.— The reconciliation.- A long divided 
homercunited.— The close of the war.— Tablrau. 

"^"Copies mailed^ postpaid , to any address, on receipt of the annexed prices. .^^3 



BY FORCE OF IMPULSE. 

A. Draivia in Kive Acts, by H. V. Vogt. 



Price, 15 Cents. 



Nine male, three female characters, viz.: Leading and Second Juvenile Men, 
Vld Man, Genteel Villain, Walking Gentleman, First and Second Light Comedians, 
Heavy Character, Low Comedian, Leading and Second Juvenile Ladies and Comic 
Old Maid. Time of playing. Two hours and a half. 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 



Act L Lovb vs. Impulse.— Doller- 
C'utch's office. — A fruitless journey, a 
heap of accumulated business and a 
chapter of unparalleled impudence. — 
News from the front. — A poor girl's 
fc-ouble and a lawyer's big heart.— Hil- 
da's sad story.—" I '11 see this thing 
through if it costs me a fortune!"— A 
sudden departure in search of a clue — 
The meeting of friends. — One of nature's 
noblemen.— Maitland betrays his secret 
by a slip of the tongue.— The ball at 
Peach wood. — Two spooneys.fresh from 
coUege.lose their heads and their hearts. 
^-"Squashed, by Jupiter! '—Trusting 
innocence and polished villainy.— The 
interrupted tryst. — An honest man's 
fivowal.— A picture of charming simpli- 
city.— Murdell and Hilda meet face to 
'face. — "I dare you to make another 
victim !" — A scoundrel's discomfiture. — 
Tableau. 

Act n. The Separation.— The Mait- 
land homestead. — Anastasia's doubts. — 
A warm welcome and its icy reception. 
.—Forebodings and doubts. — Father and 
son. — Searching questions.— A domestic 
storm and a parent's command. — A 
foiled villain's wrath.— Enlisting for the 
■war. — The collapse of the cowards. — 
•' It 's no use, 'Dolphy, the jig 's up !" — 
Hilda's sympathy and Adrienne's silent 
despair.— The result of impulse.— The 
father pleads for his son. — Anastasia 
and Dollerclutch. — Coriolanus comes to 
grief. — Good and bad news. — Husband 
and wife. — Reginald demands an ex- 

?lanation. — A nand without a heart. — 
he separation. — A new recruit. — Too 
late; the roll is signed. — Tableau. 

Act III. Duty vs. Impulse.— Four 
years later. — A camp in the army. — 
Longings. — •• Only six miles from 
home !' —The skeleton in the closet. — 
A father's yearning for his child. — A 
■woman-hater in love. — Dollerclutch's 
drearn.— A picture of camp life and fun. 
— Coriolanus has his revenge. — News 
from home. — Dollerclutch makes a big 
find. " Eureka ! "—Proofs of Hilda's 
parentage and marriage.— A happy old 



lawyer.— "I '11 take them to Hilda I "— 
Detailed for duty.— A soldier's tempta- 
tion. — The sentinel deserts his post. — 
The snake in the grass.— "At last, I can 
humble his pride 1 " 

Act IV. The Reconciliation and 
Sequel.— At Reginald's home.— News 
from the army.—" Grant is not the man 
to acknowledge defeat !"— Adrienne and 
Hilda. — False pride is broken.— The re- 
conciliation. — " Will Reginald forgive 
me?"— Dollerclutch brings joy to Hi^ 
da's heart.— "You are the daughter of 
Morris Maitland !"— The stolen '^^cu- 
ments and the snake in the «;iass. — 
"Hang me if I don't see ♦.I.is thing 
through !"— A letter to the absent one. — 
Face to face. — The barrier of pride 
swept down. — "Reginald, I love you; 
corne back!" — The happy reunion.— An 
ominous cloud. — "I have deserted my 
post ; the penalty is death. I must re- 
turn ere my absence is discovered !" — 
The wolf m the sheepfold. — A wily 
tempter foiled. — A villain's rage. — 
"Those words have sealed your doom I" 
— The murder and the escape. — 
Dollerclutch arrives too late.— The pur- 
suit. 

Act V. Divine Impulse.— In camp. — 
Maitland on duty.— The charge of de- 
sertion and the examination. — "I knew 
not what I did !"— The colonel's lenity.— 
Disgrace. — News of Adrienne's murder 
is brought to camp. — Circumstantial 
evidence fastens the murder iipon Reg- 
inald.— The court-martial.— ConvictKl 
and sentenced to be shot. — Preparations 
lor the execution. — ' God knows I am 
innocent I "—Dollerclutch arrives in the 
nick of time. — "If you shoot that man 
you commit murder 1"— The beginning 
of the end.— "Adrienne lives!"'— A vil- 
lain's terror.— Adrienne appears on the 
scene.— " There is the attempted assas- 
sin !" — Divine impulse. — The reward of 
Innocence and the punishment of vil- 
lainy. — Good news. — " Hurrah, the wal- 
ls over; Lee has surrendered to Grant I" 
— The happy dfttousment aoidjinale.- • 
Tableau. 



Copies mailed, post-paid, to any address on receipt e/the advertised price. 

liAROLE) ROORBACH, Ptjiblisl:i©r, 

9 atrHRAY ST., It(E:^W YORK. 



NEW ENTERTAINMENTS. 

THE JAPANESE WEDDING. 

A costume pantomime representation of the Wedding Ceremony in Japanese high life. 
The company consists of the bride and groom, their parents, six bridesmaids, and 
the officiating personage appropriately called the " CJo-between." There are 
various formalities, including salaams, tea-drinking, eating rice-cakes, and giving 
presents. No words are spoken. The ceremony (which occupies about 50 
minutes), with the "tea-room," fills out an evening well, though music and other 
attractions may be added. Can be represented by young ladies alone, if preferred. 
Price, 25 Cents. 

AN EVENING WITH PICKWICK. 

A Literarj' and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces the Pickwick Club, 
the Wardles of Dingley Deli, the Fat Boy, Alfred Jingle, Mrs. Leo Hunter, Lord 
Mutanhed and Count Smorltork, Arabella Allen and Hob Allen, Rob Sawyer, Mrs. 
and Master Bardell, Mrs. Cluppins, Mrs. Weller, Stiggins, Tony Weller, Sam 
Weller, and the Lady Traveller. Price, 25 cents. 

AN EVENING WITH COPPERFIELD. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment.— Introduces Mrs. Copperfield, 
Davie, the Peggotys, the Murdstones, Mrs. Gummidge, Little Em'ly, Barkis, 
Betsey Trotwood, Mr. Dick and his kite, Steerforth, the Creakles, Traddles, 
Rosa Dartle, Miss Mowcher, Uriah Heep and his Mother, the Micawbers, Dora 
and Gyp, and the wooden-legged Gatekeeper. Price, 25 cents. 
These " Evenings with Dickens " can be represented in whole or in part, require 
bit little memorizing, do not demand experienced actors, are not troublesome to pre- 
pare, and arc suitable for performance either on the platform or in the drawing room. 

THE GYPSIES' FESTIVAL. 

A Musical Entertainment for Young People. Introduces the Gypsy Queen, Fortune 
Teller, Yankee Peddler, and a Chorus of Gypsies, of any desired number. The 
scene is supposed to be a Gypsy Camp. The costumes are very pretty, but 
simple ; the dialc gue bright ; the music easy and tuneful ; and the drill movements 
and ca'isthenics are graceful. Few properties and no set scenery required, so 
that the entertainment can be represented on any platform. Price, 25 cents. 

THE COURT OF KING CHRISTMAS. 

A CHRISTMAS EN lERTAlNMENT. The action takes place in Santa Claus 
land on Christmas eve, and represents the bustling preparations of St. Nick and 
his attendant worthies for the gratification of all children the next day. The cast 
may include as many as 36 characters, though fewer will answer, and the enter- 
tainment represented on a platform, without troublesome properties. The cos- 
tumes are simple, the incidental music and drill movements graceful and easily 
rrianageJ, the dialogue uncommonly good, and the whole thing quite above the 
average. A representation of this entertainment will cause the young folks, from 
six to sixty, fairly to turn themselves inside out with delight, and, at the same 
time, enforce the important moral of Peace and Good Will. Price, 25 cents. 
RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

ILLUSTRATED TABLEAUX FOR AMATEURS. A nevv series of Tableaux 
Vi2<ants, liy Makiha C. Weld. In this series each description is accompanied 
with a full-page illustration of the scene to be represented. 
PART I. -MISCELLANEOUS TABLEAUX.— Contains General Introduction, 

12 Tableaux and 14 Illustrations. Price, 25 Cents. 
PART II. — MISCELLANEOU.S TABLEAUX.— Cont.-iins Introduction, 12 Ta- 
bleaux and 12 ilUf^traiions. Price, 25 Cents. 

SAVED FROM THE WRECX. A drama in three acts. Eght male, three 
female characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. A comedy-drama in three acts. Ivght male, three 
f-male chincters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

BY FORCE OF IMPULSE. A drama in five acts. Nine male, three female 
characters. Time, two hour"5 and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

A LESSON IN ELEGANCE. A comedy in one act. Four female characters. 
Time, thi; ty minutes. Price, 15 Cents. 

WANTED, A CONFIDENTIAL CLERK. A farce in one act. Six male 
characters. Time, thirty minutes. Price, 15 Cents. 

SECOND SIGHT. A farcical comedy in one act. Four male, one female charac- 
ter. Time, one hour. Price, 15 Cents. 

THE TRIPLE WEDDING. A drama in three acts. Four male, four female 
characters. Time, one hour and a quarter. Price, 15 cents. 
y^'A ny o/the above will be sent by mail^ postpaid, to any address^ on receipt 

oy the annexed prices. „^£^ 

HAROLD ROORBACH. Publisher, 9 Murray St., New York. 



H ELMER'S 

ACTORS MAKE-UP BOOK 

jI Pratt ical and ^ystamatic Guide to the Art o/ Making u/> /jr t, 



PRICE, 25 CENTS. 



> 



With exhaustive treatment on the Use of The 
Wigs and Beards, The Make-up and its requisite materj 

DIFFERENT FEATURES AND THEIR MANAGEMENT, TYPICAL Ch 

Masks, etc. With Special Hints to Ladies. Designed 
USE OF Actors and Amateurs, and for both Ladies and 
men. Copiously Illustrated. 

CONTENTS. 

I. Theatrical Wigs. — The Style and Form of Theatri - 
and Beards. The Color and Shading of Theatrical Wigs anc 
Directions for Measuring the Head. To put on a Wig prop 

n. Theatrical Beards. — How to fashion a Beard out 
liair. How to make Beards of Wool. The growth of Beai 
lated. 

HL The Make-up. — A successful Character Mask, anc 
make it. Perspiration during performance, how removed. 

IV. The Make-up Box. — Grease Paints. Grease p 
sticks; Flesh Cream; Face Powder; How to use face po\ 
liquid cream ; The various shades of face powder. Wj 
in6iique. Nose Putty. Court Plaster. Cocoa Butter. Ci 
ard Prepared Wool. Grenadine. Dorin's Rouge. "Ok 
Rouge. "Juvenile" Rouge. Spirit Gum. Email Noir. 
Grease. Eyebrow Pencils. Artist's Stomps. Powder Puflfi. 
Peet. Camels'-hair Brushes. 

V. The Features and their Treatment. — The Eye 
mess. The Eyelids. The Eyebrows : How to paint out an e; 
moustache ; How t j paste on eyebrows ; How to regulate b 
"brows. The Eyelashes : To alter the appearance of the ej 
Ears. The Nose : A Roman nose; How to use the nose 
pug nose ; An African nose ; a large nose apparently reduce 
The Mouih and Lips : a juvenile mouth ; an old mouth ; a- 
mouth ; a satirical mouth ; a one-sided mouth ; a merry n 
sullen mouth. The Teeth. The Neck, Arms, Hands am 
nails: Fingernails lengthened. Wrinkles: Friendliness an 
iiess indicated by wrinklc<;. Shading. A Starving char 
Cut in the Face. A Thin Face Made Fleshy. 

VI. Typical Character Masks. — The Make-up fo 
Dimpled cheeks. Manhood. Middle Age. Making up as 
xird : One method ; another method. Old Age. Negroes 
Chinese. King Lear, Shylock. Macbeth. Richelieu. 
Clowns. 

VU. Special Hints to Ladies. — The Make-up. '. 
Wigs aud Hair Goods, 

Scut by HUT U, postpaid, to any address, on nrcipt of ihc price. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publl 

^ 9 Murray Street, New York. 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 526 484 



